Blow Fly (Kay Scarpetta #12)(105)
"With him, I believe it is genetics. His mother-my sister-wasn't well." Mrs. Guidon pauses, then adds, "Of course, you know that."
"Why don't you tell me what I'm supposed to know. You seem to know so much about me."
"Now, you are perceptive," Mrs. Guidon replies with a touch of condescension. "But not as cautious as I would have guessed. Albert called me on your cell phone, remember? That was careless for someone of your reputation."
"What do you know of my reputation?"
"Caller ID came back to your name, and I am aware you haven't suddenly arrived in Baton Rouge for a little vacation. Charlotte s case is complicated. No one seems to have any idea what happened to her or why she went to a horrible motel frequented by truck drivers and the dregs of society. So Dr. Lanier has solicited your assistance, no? But I, at least, am relieved and grateful, and let's just say it was planned that you would sit next to Albert and drive him home, and here you are." She lifts her teacup. "All things happen for a reason, as you must know."
"How could you possibly have orchestrated all this?" Scarpetta pushes her, warns her, making it clear that she has had enough. "I don't suppose U.S. Attorney Weldon Winn is involved with your scheming, since he just happened to sit next to me, too."
"There is much you don't know. Mr. Winn is a close family friend."
"What family? Alberts father didn't show up at the airport. Albert doesn't seem to even know where he is. What did any of you suppose would happen to a young boy traveling alone?"
"He wasn't alone. He was with you. And now you are here. I wanted to meet you. Perfect."
"Family friend?" Scarpetta repeats. "Then why did Albert not know Weldon Winn, if he is such a good family friend?"
"Albert has never met him."
"That makes no sense."
"That's not for you to say."
"I'll say whatever I want, since you seemed to have assigned Albert to me and were certain he would be safe with me-a perfect stranger-and that I would bring him home. How could you be sure I would take it upon myself to look after him or that I'm trustworthy?" Scarpetta pushes back her chair and gets up, and it scrapes loudly against heart-of-pine flooring. "He lost his mother, who the hell knows about the father, and he's lost his dog, and next he's abandoned and frightened. In my business, this is called child neglect, child abuse." Her anger flashes.
"I am Charlotte's sister." Mrs. Guidon gets up, too.
"All you've done is manipulate me. Or try to. I'm leaving now."
"Please let me show you around first," Mrs. Guidon says. "Particularly le cave. "
"How could you possibly have a wine cellar in an area where the water table is so high that plantation houses have to be built on pillars?" Scarpetta asks.
"So you are not always observant. This house is on an elevation, built in 1793. The original owner found the perfect location for what he had in mind. He was a Frenchman, a wine connoisseur who often traveled back to France. Slaves constructed a wine cellar, like the ones he knew in France, and I doubt there is another one like it in this country." She walks to the door leading outside and opens it. "You simply must see it. Baton Rouges best-kept secret."
Scarpetta stands where she is. "No."
Mrs. Guidon lowers her voice and is almost gentle when she explains, "You are wrong about Albert. I was circling the airport. I saw the two of you on the sidewalk. Had you left him, I would have picked him up, but based on what I know about you, you would not leave him. You are too caring, too decent. And you are wary about the evils in this world." She states this not with feeling but as fact.
"How could you have been circling the airport? I called you at home..."
"Programmed to roll over to my cell phone. I actually was looking at you when you called me." This amuses her. "I got to the house no more than fifteen minutes before you did, Dr. Scarpetta. I don't blame you for being angry and confused, but I wanted to talk to you when Jason wasn't here. Albert's father. Believe me, you are very fortunate that he isn't here." She hesitates, holding the kitchen door open wide. "When he's around, there is no such thing as privacy. Please come." She motions to her.
Scarpetta looks at the keypads by the kitchen door. Outside, shadows fall in a black curtain from trees lush with new leaves. The woods are damp and earthy beneath a waning moon.
"I will let you out this way, then. The driveway is just to the side. But you must promise to come back and see the cave," she says.
"I'll go out the front." Scarpetta starts walking that way.
110
BENTON DROVE AROUND for a while, then checked into the Radisson under the assumed name of Tony Wilson.
Inside his suite, he sits on the bed, his door secured with the dead-bolt lock and burglar chain. He requested a block on his telephone, not that he is expecting calls. The clerks at reception seemed to understand. He is a wealthy man from Los Angeles and wants privacy. The hotel is the finest one in Baton Rouge, its staff accustomed to accommodating a lot of people from all over who don't use the valets, preferring to come and go discreetly. They don't want to be bothered and rarely stay long.
Benton connects his laptop to the modem line in his room. He enters his code to release the lock of the new black briefcase he deliberately scuffed by scraping it against furniture and sliding it across the floor. He takes off his ankle holster and places his.357 magnum Smith & Wesson 340PD on the bed. It is double-action, loaded with five rounds of Speer Gold Dot 125-grain.